The Taint of Chaos
by JMSlayer
Summary: When recruitment world favored by the Blood Ravens is corrupted by the Forces of Chaos, some among the Astartes learn that the will of Chaos cannot be denied.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note**: This is my first delve into the Warhammer 40k universe, but I believe I am sufficiently informed to be able to attempt it. This is my first story in a long while, so my writing may have atrophied somewhat, but enough excuses. Reviews, critique, thoughts, and suggestions are all GREATLY appreciated

**Disclaimer**: The only thing I glean from creating this story is the peace from soothing my muse. All subjects mentioned within are owned by their respective companies. I don't make a dime on this.

**Warnings**: Mild Cursing. Violence. Blood. Occult sacrifice. Mild suggestive themes. (Tame, don't worry, but Slaanesh and Chaos go hand-in-hand.)

**Sidenote**: Any quasi-religious situations and leanings mentioned within the story are used in an entirely fictional context. I don't currently or ever wish to commence in any of these Chaos-based acts. This is all for entertainment

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The sound of the explosion leaked even leaked through the thick armor of the Thunderhawk. The unceasing, unyielding white light emitted from the fixtures above his head dimmed, followed by a red gleam erupting from previously unremarkable dimples in the hull. Warning sirens blared the steady whine of the engines giving way to the sound of screeching metal. As the earsplitting sound yielded, the craft began its spiral, smoke billowing into the passenger compartment from everywhere. Another explosion resounded through the craft, as the ammo belts were tasted by the billowing flame.

Craning his neck, looking grimly through the front viewport with the clinical mind only an Astartes could muster, Battle Brother Telemus felt a sardonic chuckle slip through his usually stoic lips.

_'Perhaps I should have chosen the drop pod.'_


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** A longer chapter this time, but still quite short. I'm trying to get the beginning up in smaller chunks before I take more time on the later chapters.

** Changer of Ways: **Thank-you for your reply. The prologue was intended to be short. Thank-you for the critique, redundancy is quite a problem of mine.

**Disclaimer and Warnings:** See prologue

* * *

Bashing open the damaged hatch with the stock of his bolter, the Astartes felt a grimace wash over his features. Burnt corpses littered the streets, mangled and bloody. Upon the nearest buildings, he saw signs of the Imperial Eagle, defaced. Its golden gleam tainted with blood, carved through with the Eight-Sided Star held by the Ruinous Powers. The taint of Chaos filled the air, seeming to poison the very breath he drew within his lungs. He felt an ache within his skull, as something were scratching, grasping, crawling out of the shadows of his mind.

"Telemus!"

His name wrenched him from his thoughts, and he silently thanked the Emperor for the diversion. He turned, helping one of his Battle-Brothers lift another from the wreck of the craft. Static crackled within his helmet, faded voices broken up through static. Finally relinquishing his hold of his fellow Astartes, he gazed into the heavens...

...and watched as the heaven wept. Wept tears billowing flame and acrid smoke. The heavens themselves wept for the taint this world spewed forth. Turning to his battle-brothers, he watched as the squads healer attempt to rouse the last man with the tools of his trade. "Apothecary, we should move Brother Marcius, before-"

Just as the words left his mouth, the uneasy silence was broken by an inhuman howl. Tainted men, numbering a score, leapt from behind cover, salvaged weapons spewing death. Lifting his bolter in one arm, he used the other to drag the still motionless survivor. Unlike the heretics assembled before him his weapon spewed the righteous fury of the Emperor. His first shot struck true, ripping into the rags of it's victim, torso detonating with a spray of blood. His next struck his companion, striking into the mans left shoulder, his side turned into an unrecognizable mesh of blood. The return fire deflecting off his armor, he raised his weapon further, raining death on the three heretics on the next floor.

It was then, when the traitors blood covered the walls, that the ground shook beneath his boots. The building in front of him collapsed in a cloud of smoke, a no more than a moment later, he felt his footing stripped from him. Breath flowed out of his chest as his flight through the air came to a sudden halt. He opened his mouth to warn his brothers, but the next blast landed solidly at the front of their downed Thunderhawk, the blast ripping through armor like few mere shells would.

Another blast, far to close for comfort, was punctuated by silence. "Basilisks..." he mumbled to himself. Rising from the floor, he looked toward his comrades, the sight more than enough to make a normal man wretch. The Apothecary was little more than a mess of gore-filled armor, and it was clear that Brother Marcius would never stir again, his left side eradicated by the blast. Cursing to himself, he decided against sending out a beacon, the signal would merely draw more artillery fire.

Slamming another clip into his bolter, he paused, before running forth to the nearest sounds of gunfire.


End file.
